


Devolution

by DowagerEmpress



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Artist!Steve, Community - Freeform, Crazy grandfather, DIY, Fluff, Found Family, Inheritance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Renovations, WIP, handyman!bucky
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-03-31 04:58:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13967790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DowagerEmpress/pseuds/DowagerEmpress
Summary: Every family has that one relative. Right? At least that’s what Steve was telling himself. It just so happened that his crazy great grandfather had been obscenely wealthy. The kind of wealthy that makes questions like “The diamond encrusted toothbrush, or the emerald?” seem reasonable. (He decided on both, in the end).





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Devolution - The legal transfer of property from one owner to another

Every family has that one relative. Right? At least that’s what Steve was telling himself. It just so happened that his crazy great grandfather had been obscenely wealthy. The kind of wealthy that makes questions like “The diamond encrusted toothbrush, or the emerald?” seem reasonable. (He decided on both, in the end).

That was Great-Grandfather Timothy. Steve didn’t know where the money had come from, and any time he’d asked ‘Pip-pop’ – a nickname Great-Grandfather Timothy had insisted upon – how he’d made his money the answer changed.

“I hold the patent for plastic bags”

“I invented the polio vaccine”

“I’m actually T.C. Boseman and wrote _The Chronicles of Wakanda_ ”

“I’m the lost princess Anastasia”

“I saved the country from an alien invasion”

The man had been a notorious recluse. Steve saw him once a year at his annual Christmas party/ family reunion. It was the one time a year he’d open the great iron gates of his manor home and welcome in the extended Dugan Clan. He’d circulate for precisely one hour, chatting amicably with his guests, a question here about how Steve was enjoying school or if Sara had finished her nursing degree upgrade, before retiring for the evening. Most of the Dugan clan would stay the night in the guest quarters of the manor and leave promptly the next day. No one in the family really enjoyed the party.

Steve, a Dugan on his mother’s side, had had a certain fondness for it as a child. He’d always enjoyed the drive, as the Rogers’ had piled into their family station wagon and made the four hour trek to the middle of nowhere upstate. Steve would press his face up against the window watching as snowflakes would fall listening to his father and mother sing along (poorly) to Christmas music. He’d enjoyed the grandeur of the manor; like something out of a fantasy novel. Enjoyed pestering Pip-pop with questions he’d never gotten as straight answer to. His mother insisted they go out of a sense of guilt. She felt bad for Pip-pop “out here all alone all year, he must get very lonely”, while every other member of the family were just hoping to get in the will.

As he grew older and entered his – what could _loosely_ be termed rebellious, if a pink streak in his hair and occasionally being late to dinner counted as rebellious – teenage years, Steve somewhat resented the party. He’d have much rather stayed in Brooklyn under the mistletoe with Peggy. Even so, he’d dutifully continued to go for his mother. Even the year his father left them.

When Steve was eighteen his mother finally lost her battle with cancer. Still, that Christmas he’d loaded up the station wagon with Peggy’s – attending as a friend for emotional support – and his bags. Christmas music blasting the entire way to the manor. That year had been difficult. Pip-pop had thanked him for coming and offered him a rare hug. Though Pip-pop may have not cared much for people, it was evident that he treasured this party and the opportunity to have all his family gathered.

Steve was now thirty. He’d followed his dream and gone to art school. Worked three jobs to pay for tuition, and graduated top of his class with a job offer from a publishing company to illustrate children’s books. He was on his way upstate once again, in the old station wagon he refused to part with. Christmas music was not playing this time, nor was snow falling as it was mid-June. There had not been a Christmas party for the past five years. Steve wasn’t quite sure how it had happened. Pip-pop’s health had been failing for some time, or at least that was the family rumour regarding the abrupt end of the Christmas parties. He knew that, yes, a heart attack had been how it had happened but, he didn’t know how _this_ had happened. _This_ being that Steve had become the sole beneficiary of Pip-pop’s will.

That is provided that he agree to live at least one year in the manor house.

 _And isn’t that a cliché_ Steve couldn’t help thinking to himself. Still…he’d agreed. It wasn’t too difficult a choice in the end. His job allowed him to work from home, his apartment was cramped and the rent unreasonable for the amount of space, nor did he have anything tying him to stay in Brooklyn. So he’d packed up his things and left.

Halfway through the drive his phone rang.

“Steven Rogers! What do you mean you plan to move upstate?” came the prim British chiding.

“Hello to you too, Peggy,”

“Steve I’m serious. You don’t just pack up and go, and only tell me you’re doing so in an email! I simply won’t allow it.”

“You’ll be hard pressed to stop me, Peg. I’m already over halfway there.” Steve smiled into the receiver. “Besides, it’ll be good for me. You’re always saying I need to get out, meet new people, and do new things. I’m just taking your advice.”

 “I had meant maybe take a Zumba class, not move four hours out of the city. When will I ever see you?” She had meant to sound cross, but it came out more pleading.

“Peg, we barely see each other now. You’ve hardly even been in the country the last three months. Besides, it’s only a year.”

“Fine! I expect regular phone calls. And I will be up to visit, you can be sure of that”

“I’d expect nothing less Peggy. You can tell Daniel you’re both invited for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“Hrmmm,” came the grudging reply from the other end. Steve could tell Peggy wasn’t completely sold on the idea of him up here alone, but she’d come around.

“I’m gonna have to let you go Peg. Gas is getting low and I’ve gotta stop for something to eat too. I’ll call you when I get there. Love you, and send my best to Daniel.”

“Love you too darling. If you need anything, even someone to talk to, I’m only a ring away.”

With that the line went dead and Steve was left with the dial tone ringing in his ear. At the next marker for a gas station and a restaurant he switched on his signal and pulled on to the off ramp. He was still about an hour or so away from the manor, but it was near lunch time and the bagel and yoghurt he’d had for breakfast wasn’t going to hold him all day and once he arrived he didn’t know when he’d next get the opportunity to eat. The gas station he’d found was very conveniently attached to a diner – no doubt the place typically serviced truckers – that boasted the best Garbage Plate since Nick Tahou Hots.

He filled up the station wagon and walked into the convenience store to grab anything he thought he might need tonight. A bored looking twenty-something leaned against the counter surreptitiously checking his phone if Steve had to guess what the darting downward glances meant. He walked to the back of the store and grabbed a case water out of the cooler. On his way to the up to the counter he picked up a box of granola bars, a bag of off brand cereal, and with a thought of ‘just in case’ a four pack of toilet paper (it never hurts to be prepared or have extra).

He winced as he deposited his armload of groceries on the counter with a thud louder than he’d intended, making the cashier jump, startled. When the kid looked up his mouth clamed up tight and he turned bright red.

“H-hello, w-w-will this be everything today?” he stammered.

Steve sighed inwardly. He had this effect on people a lot and he hated it. He’d been a fairly scrawny kid no one ever really looked at twice, but puberty had hit him like a freight train. He’d grown from four foot nothing, to being six-two and , thanks to Peggy getting him into working out, he’d developed  a, what guys who hit on him in gay bars referred to as “muscle hunk Adonis”, physique. The fact that his blonde hair, blue eyes, and beard made him look like the stereotypical ‘boy next door’ didn’t help either.

“Yes, that’s everything,” he said in his meekest, most polite voice trying to put the poor kid at ease.

The kid began scanning the items, clearly relieved to have something to focus on that wasn’t Steve.

“That comes to $17.86. And would you like a bag today?” the cashier asked. He’d managed to compose himself and had retreated behind the veneer of what Steve called ‘cashier voice’. “Will that be cash or credit?” He began bagging the groceries before Steve could reply.

“Credit,” Steve said idly swiping the card. He grabbed the bag of supplies and headed towards the door with a “Thanks,” and a smile for the cashier.

“Have a nice night…day…24 hours…fuck,” the guy called after him. Steve just smiled and shook his head. _Poor kid_ he thought remembering his own early twenties.

Once back in the car the remaining hour of his drive went quickly. He turned on the radio and bopped along to some catchy pop song. Although he’d never admit it, when Steve was in a car he didn’t just sing along to the music, he _performed_. He was so caught up in diva riffing and sassy finger points that he very nearly missed the exit to the town his new property sat on the outskirts of.

The property itself would have been near impossible to find the entrance to had Steve not known where it was. In the years since the Christmas parties had ceased, the state of the ground and house had fallen into disrepair, Pip-pop having dismissed all but the most necessary of his staff upon falling ill. The driveway was grown over with grass and moss, the faint impression of tire tracks from the nurse who he’d hired to check on him weekly just barely visible. Steve maneuvered the station wagon through it, half guessing where the road led.

The house was set far back on the property surrounded by dense forest and high garden walls. He pulled up to the elaborately molded wrought iron gate barring entrance to the grounds proper. The gate had seen better days, nearly rusted off its hinges, and swinging ajar, creaking softly in the early summer breeze. Steve got out of the car and opened the gates fully to admit his car. Once through the gate the house rose before him like something out of a fairytale castle. It wasn’t the beautiful, happy-ending type of castle that kids daydream about; it was the castle a witch had placed a curse upon which some hapless prince or princess had been tasked to break.

Steve had been illustrating too many fantasy stories if he was thinking like that.

His suitcase in one hand, his bag of groceries in the other, Steve took a deep breath, taking in the crisp country air. This was it. This was going to be his home for at least the next year. Come hell or high water, he _was_ going to make the most of it. _Who knows,_ Steve thought … _This might be just what I need._ With that final though he stepped into the shadow of the house, up the grand manor steps, and through the front door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not sure where this fic is going exactly, but I'm excited to find out.
> 
> Bucky will definitely be making his entrance in the next chapter. And likely a few other of my favourite MCU peeps.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I got this done a lot sooner than I thought I would.

Steve’s first night in the house was a bit of a trial. He hadn’t anticipated the fact that the power to the house had been shut off. He probably should have, as that was typical when someone died and ceased paying the power bill. He’d have to call tomorrow to get someone out to set up the power again.

Steve was grateful that he’d arrived early in the evening that there was still sunlight to illuminate the house. He was even more grateful for the frankly obscene amount of windows and southern exposure which let in said light. He set off through the house in search of something to provide light when night finally fell.

Steve had never explored the house before. When he’d been here at Christmas, they’d been ushered through the massive entrance hall and into the even more massive ballroom which took up the entire lower east wing of the house. He decided to check the lower west wing of the house first, to see if there was a flashlight to be found.

He strode through the dust coated entrance hall and through the door that led to the west wing. This section of the house had clearly been abandoned long before the rest of the house, and had fallen into disuse. The dust here was thicker, piled nearly an inch high. Steve could make out a shuffling trail where his grandfather or his nurse had made their way to the kitchen – the only room in the lower west wing that showed any signs of use.

Steve searched through the many drawers and cabinets in the kitchen for a flashlight. There was not a single one to be found. Dry from all the dust he’d been stirring up, Steve grabbed a glass out of a cupboard that was clearly the only one that had been used before Pip-pop had died and went to the sink.

Fortunately, the water hadn’t been shut off yet. After a very quick call to the water company, before everyone had left for the day, Steve ensured that it wouldn’t be and that the account would be switched over. The woman he’d spoken to had sounded very annoyed that she’d been the one to get saddled with this as her last call of the day.

The water soothed his throat, but it had the nasty metallic taste of water that had been sitting in pipes. It ran clear so he wasn’t concerned the pipes were rusting. He’d just have to run the taps to get fresh water flowing into the house. He sat down at the stainless steel table tucked into a window framed corner and surveyed the room.

The kitchen was a grand thing. Or it would have been, if it too weren’t covered in dust. The countertops had to have been bright white marble which picked up on the ice-cream parlour floor. The cupboards themselves were a pristine white, and the appliances were all stainless steel. There was a massive island with stools on the side facing Steve, directly across from the cooktop which was also set into the island. It was an entertainer’s kitchen, though Steve thought it unlikely that Pip-pop had ever entertained guests in here. It truly was a beautiful kitchen, if a bit cold and sterile for Steve’s taste.

 _Well_ , Steve thought, _we’ll just have to change that._ Leaving the kitchen behind Steve’s mind swirled with ideas for how he’d fix up the place. It would mostly be a matter of paint here, replace wall paper there, and of course putting up art.

 Steve never quite understood people who didn’t have art up in their homes. He thought of it asa way of revealing yourself to other people, of saying: _This is me._ He already had three new ideas for paintings.

The other rooms on the ground floor turned out to be a formal dining room, a study/library, a parlor, and thankfully, a full bathroom – which seemed odd to Steve, but his grandfather had never been what one would call normal. He found some candles in the dining room set in a cobweb coated candelabra, and a few more in the parlor. He was thankful that the parlor also housed a large stone fireplace and a healthy supply of firewood. Even in June, nights in upstate New York could get chilly. He decided he’d sleep down here tonight. The guest quarters were likely in worse shape in terms of cleanliness and it didn’t feel right to Steve to move into Pip-pop’s old room. It was now time for him to get to work unloading the car and cleaning.

He spent twenty minutes unloading the car and organizing his things before stashing his suitcases of clothes in the parlor and returning to the foyer. Before unpacking any further, he’d have to give the place a good cleaning. Rather than spend any more time rummaging around the house trying to find cleaning supplies, Steve figured he just head into town to pick up a few things.

Once off the property, it was a five minute drive to the center of town. Actually, the center of town was a _generous_ term. It was a one street town– if you didn’t count the few residential side streets – that ran self-sufficiently. It looked like something out of one of the story books that Steve illustrated. The street was line with little mom n’ pop shops. There was a diner, the only restaurant in the town, called Bowl n’ Arrow; Barnes and Son Hardware; Pym’s Grocery; and a few other professional buildings – doctor’s office, ice cream parlor, dance studio and other necessities in a quaint town – here and there that Steve noted.

He stopped in at the grocer’s to pick up the cleaning products first. Steve could feel every eye in the place on him the second he was through the door. The din of dozens of conversations quieted to hushed whispers. The town was small and didn’t see new people very often. Steve knew this, but it didn’t mean that he had to enjoy being the subject of everyone’s curious scrutiny.

He grabbed a basket and strode through the aisles, intentionally making eye contact with everyone. Most of them immediately looked away, embarrassed to be caught gawking. One woman, a red head, about his age, met his gaze and smiled knowingly at him before turning gracefully and disappearing down an aisle.

 _Weird_ , Steve thought.

He gathered up the cleaning supplies – regretting that he hadn’t got a cart – which overflowed the bounds of the basket due to the massive quantities he’d decided he’d need. He was in line behind the strange redhead. As she waited for the cashier to finish up packing her groceries, she gave Steve another considering look, and then leaned over the conveyor to whisper in the cashier’s ear. He smiled and nodded, before handing her a big paper bag of groceries. Before heading out the door, she turned back to Steve gave him a wink.

 “Hello there!”  said the cashier, who’s nametag read ‘Scott’. “How’re you today? Haven’t seen you around here before.”

“Uh… Yeah,” he replied, still thrown by the woman’s behaviour. “I’m new… sort of. Just moved here from Brooklyn.”

“Oh, cool. Didn’t know there were any houses for sale…OH WAIT!” he exclaimed, eyes widening with sudden realization. “You’re him! You’re the grandson!” He was nearly jumping up and down in excitement. Steve half expected him to start taking pictures.

“I’m sorry?” Steve asked taken aback.

“You’re the guy. The whole town has been abuzz since Old-man Dugan kicked the can… I mean _…uh_ …sorry…sorry. My condolences. I really just stuck my foot in my mouth.” Scott shamefacedly rubbed the back of his head.  “I didn’t mean any offense. I am so sorry!”

Steve was thrown by the whole interaction, but felt bad for the guy who was turning redder by the second. “It’s okay. We weren’t really close. Truth be told, I don’t really know why he left me the place,” he was smart enough not to reveal that he’d been the sole benefactor of his Pip-pop’s will.

“Still – sorry, man. My name’s Scott, by the way,” he said pointing to his nametag.

“Steve,” he replied shaking Scott’s proffered hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“SCOTT! Quit holding up the line!” An older man had come out of the back of the store.

“Sorry Hank!” Scott called back. “I was just introducing myself to Steve. He just moved into Old-man Dugan’s place. He’s his grandson.”

“I don’t care if he’s the Queen of Sheba, get a move on! But nice to meet you Steve, we all really respected your grandfather here. Sorry for your loss,” he continued, yelling across the store.

Steve turned back to Scott. He was now the one turning red.

“That’s Hank Pym, my father-in-law,” Scott explained. “Owns the place. He’s training me and his daughter to take over when he finally decides to retire. His bark is worse than his bite, but I really should let you move along. Nice meeting you.”

“What do I owe you for the groceries?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. The woman ahead of you told me to add them to her tab. Have a great day!” With that Scott handed Steve his bags and turned to the next customer in line.

Steve left the store in a daze. He supposed he’d have to get used to this kind of thing, living in a small town. He’d miss the anonymity of living in a big city. He liked going places and doing things without running into people he’d have to make small talk with, and not having anybody know his business.

He was still ruminating on this as he entered Barnes and Son hardware store. The place was built to resemble a log cabin. Made of rough timber, the store was one big room which smelled of woodchips, dust, and the indescribable but ever present sent of many assorted things gathered together in one place. In truth, it was less of a hardware store than a hardware and sundries, as it seemed to sell everything (other than clothes) that you couldn’t find at Pym’s. The front of the store was bright, lit by the two windows that flanked the door. The counter was to the right manned by a sullen looking teenager, who Steve assumed must be the ‘son’ of Barnes and Son. To the left was what Steve would call an ‘impulse buy’ section - bins and tables knick-knacks and small necessities. The store went back a ways and where the shelves began, so too did the murky orange glow of industrial fluorescent lights. The lighting was modern, but the store felt timeless. It had clearly been here for a long time, and would be for a long time more.

Steve knew that he didn’t _really_ need anything in here; he knew that if he looked hard enough he was bound to find a broom, and a mop and bucket, but he really couldn’t be bothered – he rationalized that you could never have too many brooms. He headed down an aisle that looked promising. The store had fewer customers than Pym’s, for which Steve was grateful. The only other person in the aisle was a man atop a ladder who Steve could only see the lower half of – it was a very nice lower half, which was not lost on Steve - as he was stretching to reach the very back of the shelves.

Loathe as Steve was to draw attention to himself, the man and the ladder in question happened to be directly in front of the brooms and mops. He had no course of action other than to ask the man to move.

“Err… excuse me, sir?” he tried quietly. The man didn’t react. Raising his voice a little louder, Steve tried again. “Excuse me.” Still nothing. Steve had no choice but to reach up and tap the man on the calf.

Steve saw the next ten seconds in slow motion. Startled, the man – who Steve could now see had a face to match his fine ass – jerked backwards out of the shelves with a shout which sent him reeling off balance. He windmilled his arms in a desperate attempt to correct his balance, but Steve could see it was of no use.

It didn’t happen like a movie; well out of ‘meet cute’ territory. Steve didn’t come to his rescue. He didn’t catch him in his arms bridal style, a clever quip quick to follow. No. What happened instead was that the man fell on top of Steve, sending them both sprawling in painful a heap of misplaced elbows and knees. The ladder itself went clattering in the opposite direction, as did a selection of mops, brooms, and mop/broom hybrids.

Steve levered himself up, disentangling himself from the other man with a groan. He was faintly aware of music coming out of headphones that had fallen off the man’s head.

Grunting, the man got to his feet. He turned and offered his hand to Steve, helping him to get up.  Steve noticed absently that the hands were strong and callused. “Are you okay? Sorry about that. I get pretty oblivious sometimes. ‘Specially when I’ve got my headphones in.”

Steve was tongue tied. He wasn’t shy, but that didn’t help him when he was talking to pretty people. Actually, pretty. He was all long lean lines wrapped in flannel and denim. Long brown hair framed a face that housed soulful blue eyes, set above a full mouth pulled up in a sheepish grin. He had a light dusting of facial hair that highlighted the dimple in his chin. Steve was screwed. He was utterly smitten, and utterly screwed.

“Uh …” replied Steve intelligently.

There came the patter of rushed footsteps and he was rescued by a young girl, barely in her twenties by his best guess. She was short and willowy, but she more than made up for it with presence. The girl loomed at the entrance to the aisle concern etched into her dark features. She stood in a ready stance, as if prepared to take action the moment she determined what that action should be.  Her aura exuded a confidence that made Steve believe that if something had actually been wrong, she’d have been able to fix it.

“Oh my God! What happened? Are you ok?” cried the girl.

“I’m fine, Shuri. Nothing damaged but my pride.” He turned back to Steve. “You are okay, right? I’m really, really sorry.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.” The spell was finally broken and, blinking, Steve snapped back to himself. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“Nah, I shouldn’t have been listening to my music on the job. Especially up a ladder.”

“Ok, as cute as you two white boys trying to take the blame for this accident is, I have stuff to be doing. So if I don’t need to call Dr. Banner, I’m going. I’ll be in the office if you need me, Bucky.” With a swish of braids she was gone.

“She’s right, you know,” the man, Bucky, said shaking his head. “Let’s just agree it was nobody’s fault and just forget it ever happened. I’m Bucky, by the way. Bucky Barnes.” He extended his hand. “I don’t recognize you, which means you’re new here. Pleasure to meet you.”

Steve took the hand and shook, an electric tingle shooting up his arm. “St-Steve. Steve Rogers. Just moved to town,” he stammered. _Jesus, Rogers! Get it together!_ he thought angrily. Just because he hadn’t been with anyone in a few years didn’t mean he had to turn into a puddle at the first attractive guy he saw.

“So you’re the grandson, eh?”

Steve bristled a bit at that. It had been less than a day since he’d been here and he already felt like a museum display. “Yeah, just moved in. Pip-pop left me the house. Came in here to pick up some cleaning supplies. Couldn’t find them at the house.”

“Oh, that’s nice. I mean… not that your grandfather dying is nice. Fuck. I mean that he left you the house. It sure is a beauty. Or at least I assume it is, from the outside.” Bucky looked mortified.

“It’s alright. We weren’t particularly close. I only saw him once a year,” said Steve, trying to disperse the tension. “The house really is beautiful… when it’s not covered in dust and grime. Hence the mop and broom… Oh yeah. I nearly forgot, I’ll need a bucket too,” Steve snapped his fingers, remembering why he was in the store in the first place.

“Still… sorry. For everything,” Bucky made a sweeping gesture which managed to encompass both Steve’s grandfather and the mess of cleaning tools still on the ground. “Speaking of which, I should really get this cleaned up and get back to stocking,” he gave a small chuckle and bent down to start clearing the mess.

Steve bent down to help, before being quickly shooed away by Bucky.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll have this cleaned in a jiffy. You just get what you came in for. It’s on the house today.”

“I can’t accept that. I made a mess. I can’t just not pay.”

“I insist. Think of it as a welcome gift.” He loaded Steve’s arms up with a bucket, a mop, and a broom and called to the kid at the counter, “Peter, don’t let Steve here pay for this stuff.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Barnes,” the kid called back.

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?”

“Sorry, Mr. Ba– Bucky.”

He turned back to Steve with a blinding smile, walking him to the door. “See you around.” Steve was almost out the door when he heard Bucky call his name once again. “Oh, and Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Welcome to Kirby.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did promise that Bucky would make an entrance...plus I got to include Nat, Scott, and Shuri. Expect more of them because I love these characters so much.
> 
> I'm still not 100% sure where this is going but I've definitely got a few ideas percolating in the old noggin.
> 
> I would be remiss if I didn't thank my long distance partner and crime, and platonic life partner for her support, encouragement, beta skills, and as a sounding board for ideas and inspiration. So, thanks Molly.
> 
> ...Oh. And that reminds me. You can probably expect copious amounts of cheese and schmaltz


	3. Chapter 3

Steve left the hardware store with a smile on his face. He turned on the radio for the drive home, singing along to Natalie Cole. The fact that he couldn't carry a tune in a bucket didn't stop him from pouring his heart into it. The drive was mostly uneventful until few feet from his driveway when he was forced to slam on the breaks to avoid hitting a family of ducks that decided to cross the road.

Once the family of ducks was safely across the road he headed down his driveway, heaving a heavy sigh. He wasn't looking forward to the monumental task of cleaning the house, estimating that it would take him at least a week to get the place clean, and probably longer to make it habitable.  Of course he could always take the somewhat lazy route and just tackle the first floor. Steve climbed out of the car. He stood gazing up at the house and took a deep breath of crisp country air.

 As far as he could see there was no reason for him to ever have to venture upstairs. He could rework the west wing into a reasonable living space, claiming the study as his bedroom and the dining room as his studio – he always preferred to eat in the kitchen and found the concept of formal dining areas stuffy. He climbed the stairs unlocking the door and propping it open, mind abuzz with plans. The parlour he figured he could leave as is, though with a few alterations to make it more comfortable – couches, a TV, some armchairs maybe.

_That_ , he thought, _is a project for Future Steve_. He’d make sure he had a clean sleeping space tonight and tomorrow he could address the other rooms. He unloaded the car, bringing the bags of cleaning products into the kitchen. Leaving them next to the sink, he thought about other changes he’d like to make. They’d mostly be cosmetic elements to suit his tastes of course, but he wondered if moving around some walls would be beneficial. He didn’t need the kind of huge bedroom that transforming the office would provide him, but he did need a lot of space in his studio. Steve was in no means incapable of household repair, but moving walls was not in his wheelhouse. It would be worth inquiring, and would give him an excuse to talk to a certain store clerk, even if he didn’t end up doing it.

_Get a grip, Rogers,_ he thought, shaking his head. _You just met the guy, no need to get obsessive. You don’t even know if he’s into guys!_

He grabbed the broom, dust bin, and a feather duster, and headed into the parlor. He opened the windows that lined the back wall to get a breeze going through the room and to freshen the air. Then he stood back to examine the room and form a plan of action. The room was coated in a film of dust that distorted everything in a way that made the room seem muted and out of focus. Cobwebs clung in the corners of the room and to the filigree chandelier, now swaying gently in the wind, reminding Steve of sheets that had been turned into Halloween ghosts. He could clearly see the path he’d taken across the room and around the formal Edwardian furniture; he could even see the scratchy trail of the broom’s bristles that he’d dragged behind him.

Steve had thoroughly broken a sweat by the time he deemed the room adequately clean. There was still a fair amount of dust and dirt lying around, but it would be fine to sleep in that night. He took out the earbuds he’d been pumping music through – dance music made for excellent cleaning music – and heaved himself onto the sofa with a great sigh. When the sofa gave loud whining creak he quickly rolled off of it and onto the floor. Guess he wouldn’t be sleeping on that tonight.

He let out a loud groan, muffled somewhat by the carpet his face was still firmly planted in. He was really starting to hate this house. He peeled himself off the carpet and raised his arms up over his head stretching out his back. The sun was finally starting to set in earnest, so he lit a nearby candelabra.

Steve had just settled back onto the floor when his stomach gave a loud rumble. Heading back towards the kitchen, he swore silently to himself when he remembered he hadn’t actually thought to buy any food at Pym’s. He didn’t have the energy to go back into town on the off chance the store was still open, nor was he particularly presentable after his evening of cleaning and didn’t want this to be his first impression at the town’s diner. It would be an unsatisfactory dinner of granola bars tonight, and an even less appealing repeat for tomorrow’s breakfast.

It was with grim resignation that Steve found himself, ten minutes later, sitting against the hearth in the parlor, wrapped in his sleeping bag, half-eaten box of granola bars and wrappers strewn around him with his sketchbook perched against his knees. The house was getting chilly now that the sun was down. Steve would have to build a fire pretty soon, if he was going to have any chance of staying comfortable. He’d hauled out the sketch book inspired by his day. He wanted to make sketches of the house as he’d found before he made any changes.

He’d made it through a simple outline of the parlor before it grew too dark to see. Unfurling himself from his cocoon he got up to light the fire he’d built earlier, thankful that Pip-pop had had a large supply already stacked by the fireplace. He dug around in his backpack until he found the matches he kept in his emergency kit. Once lit, it didn’t take long for the logs to catch and soon Steve was once again cozied up before the hearth.

As he stared into the flames his mind wandered to his day. He abandoned his sketch of the parlour, deciding to fill in the detail in the light of day. Flipping to a new page he started on tiny sketches of his day. He drew the sign from Pym’s, Scott’s face, the woman with the read hair’s profile. None of them were perfect likenesses, but they made him smile. He debated drawing Bucky. He pursed his lips, closing his eyes as the Bucky’s visage swam behind his eyelids. He settled, with a cheeky self-satisfied grin, on drawing his first impression of the man, namely his backside on a ladder.

His eyes were drooping by the time he’d finished the sketch. The fire had burned low and was now nothing more than smouldering embers casting off enough heat to keep the chill of night at bay. He closed the sketch book throwing it neatly next to his bags. Stretching out on the floor, Steve shut his eyes as the exhaustion of the day swept over him and he sunk quickly into a deep sleep.

*****

The morning sun crept through the window of the parlor, throwing a beam of light across Steve’s face, causing him to crack open a bleary eye. Groaning he sat up, popping his stiff back. He wasn’t looking forward to the day. He foresaw long, lonely, backbreaking hours full of sneezing and dirt, and all without his morning coffee. It was still early, so his call to the power company would have to wait. He hauled himself off the floor, stretching to ease his aching muscles – what he wouldn’t give for a hot shower – grimacing as his neck cracked.

He went over to his bags to fetch a change of clothes, to try and gain some semblance of being presentable. Just because he was dirty didn’t mean his clothes had to be. He looked down at the box of granola bars that would be his breakfast with distaste. After he got the power sorted out, he’d have to go to town to get some groceries. Steve would be damned if he was going to go another day without real food. He’d just lifted his shirt over his head when a loud _ding-dang-dong_ gave him pause.

“Who the hell…?” he questioned to the empty house, as he pulled the shirt completely off. He grabbed the fresh shirt and made his way towards the entrance hall. He was hauling the shirt on as he opened the front door.

The sight that met him caused him to freeze in surprise. Bucky was standing on the doorstep, a basket clutched in his hands, looking unsure and sheepish, a gentle pink creeping up his cheeks.

“Uh. Good morning!”

“Morning,” Steve said with a yawn, yanking down the shirt. “What brings you to this neck of the woods?”

“Oh, well...I figured you probably didn’t have any time yesterday to get real food in, and you probably wouldn’t be in any position to do any cooking for a little while, so…muffin basket,” he replied, gesturing with the basket slung over his arm. “Plus, you just moved to a small town where you don’t know anyone; it’s practically a law that a well-meaning townsperson has to provide you with a muffin basket. And coffee. And a lasagna.” He pulled back the dish towel covering the basket to reveal a smaller breadbasket full of muffins – still warm judging by the smell – a shiny silver thermos, and a glass baking dish. “I felt like I made a bad first impression yesterday, so…do over?” He was rambling, which combined with the blush made him absolutely adorable.

“Oh. Oh, wow,” Steve stood there dumbfounded. The only time anyone had brought him food before was Peggy, shortly after his mother had died. “Thank you. Thank you very much.” Remembering his manners he stepped aside and gestured to the entrance hall, “Would you like to come in? The place is a mess but...”

“I’d love to,” Bucky replied with a breathtaking grin. “Truth be told, I’ve always wanted to see the inside of this place,” he chuckled.

“It’s something alright,” Steve answered, leading him into the entryway.  Bucky gave a low impressed whistle. “Too much space for one person if you ask my opinion. I’m planning on just staying in the west wing.”  He grimaced as the breeze from the open door blew a large clump of dust off the chandelier above.

A laugh, stark and sudden ripped through the entrance hall. Steve whipped around to find Bucky with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“The west wing? Seriously? But isn’t THE WEST WING FORBIDDEN!” he finished deepening his voice to a growl, before dissolving into sniggers.

“You sayin’ I look like a beast?” Steve joked back.

“Nah, you’re definitely the beauty in this enchanted castle.” Bucky said it easily, with a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Steve wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. He’d said it so casually, no hint of the crude overtures Steve was used to receiving, and with no hesitation either. Everything about Bucky screamed straight, from the Canadian tuxedo to the toque with the Mets logo, and yet Steve held out hope. He settled for blushing and clearing his throat.

Steve led Bucky to the parlor, throwing a quick glance at his pile of stuff and thanking God he’d closed the sketch book last night. “You okay eating in here? It’s the only room that doesn’t have a thick layer of dust.”

“Not a problem, buddy. I’ve eaten worse places than this. So, where should I put this?” Bucky asked, once more gesturing to the basket.

“The hearth should be fine,” Steve said absently as he rolled up his sleeping bag. “Oh, uh….I wouldn’t sit there if I were you,” he warned Bucky, turning around and seeing him about to take a seat on the sofa, “I’m ninety-nine percent sure that this furniture is just decorative. I’m gonna run and grab some mugs for that coffee.”

When he returned from the kitchen, he found that Bucky had created a little table setting on the hearth. The plaid dish towel that had been covering the basket was laid across the hearth as a table cloth, the basket of muffins in the center. Bucky had laid out a spread to accompany the muffins. There were packets of sugar, honey, artificial sweetener, butter, three types of jam (not including the marmalade), milk, and cream.

“Are we feeding an army?” Steve joked when he saw the spread.

“I didn’t know how you took your coffee, so I brought everything,” he said gesturing non-committedly.

“Thanks. I’ll drink it black, but I prefer it with a little milk.” He took the thermos and poured them both a cup. He sighed appreciatively when the smell hit his nose. “I really needed this. You’re a life-saver!”

“Eh, it was nothing,” Bucky shrugged.

“No, really,” Steve responded, all joking leaving his voice to be replaced by earnestness, “This was super thoughtful. No one’s ever done something like this for me.”

“Well eat up. Don’t want my thoughtful gesture going to waste.”

Steve just smiled and picked up a muffin. “What kinda muffins are these anyway?”

“That one’s oatmeal-blueberry.” Bucky suddenly blanched. “Oh shit! I didn’t even think! You don’t have any allergies, do you?!”

“Nah,” Steve chuckled, “you’re good.”

Bucky visibly relaxed. “Great, so you won’t mind me eating this banana-walnut muffin,” he said biting into the muffin halfway through the sentence. Normally Steve found talking with a full mouth gross and a little rude, but it just seemed so earnest and natural when Bucky did it that he found himself not caring.

“Oh my _god_ ” Steve moaned through his own mouthful of muffin. “These are fantastic. Where did you get these? No wait, don’t tell me ‘cause I might have to go there and do something indecent, and I make a point of not randomly kissing strangers.”

Bucky burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard that he fell off the hearth onto the floor, clutching his sides in an attempt to contain his mirth.

“Oh c’mon! It wasn’t that funny,” Steve attempted to pout, though the laughter he was barely suppressing was spoiling the effect.

“It kinda was,” Bucky replied, sitting up and collecting the other half of his muffin which had fallen to the floor with him.

“Seriously though,” Steve said smiling, “these are the best muffins I’ve ever had.”

 “Well, thanks. I dunno if I should cop to it,” Bucky answered with a wink, “but _I_ made ‘em. I was up early so I made like, three batches of muffins.” He shrugged and stuck another muffin in his mouth.

Steve felt his face turn to fire. He could only assume that he was turning a bright shade of vermillion to match the heat. All he could do was splutter incoherently looking for something to say. Bucky had just winked at him after Steve had basically told him he’d like to kiss him. Sure he’d meant it as a joke about muffins, but at that particular moment that was not comfort to Steve.

“Pucker up, big boy!” Bucky smirked making kissy fish-lips at.

“Oh stuff it, you jerk,” Steve re-joined, reigning in some of his embarrassment and shoving Bucky slightly. It only served to make Bucky snicker. Steve was happy he could make him laugh. It was a sight he could really get used to, head thrown back and eyes crinkled, completely open and at ease. Sure it was at Steve’s expense but there was nothing malicious behind it.

“You’re telling me you made three batches of muffins and a lasagna this morning? Man, how early were you up?” Steve himself had only been awoken by the sun, and a brief glance at his watch told him he was right in assuming it wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.

“Eh, I’m usually up around five. I like to go for a run and hit the gym before heading in to open up the store. I just skipped the workout in exchange for the muffins,” Bucky shrugged. “The lasagna I actually made last night. I felt bad about falling on you yesterday, thus the only logical thing to do was make an apology lasagna,” he explained. “The muffins mostly came about because I thought it’d be kinda weird to show up at seven-thirty in the morning with a lasagna. Plus I bought way too much fruit at Pym’s last night,” he finished with chortle.

“There was no need for an apology, man. It was my fault. Though… can’t say I’m not grateful for the food. And the wakeup call.”

“Oh shit!” Bucky swore. “I didn’t even think! I forget that not everyone wakes up as insanely early as me.” He looked down sheepishly.

“No man, it’s cool.” Steve held up his hands in placating gesture. “I was already awake. I’m a fairly early riser myself. I just took today to sleep in ‘cause I knew I couldn’t really do anything until the power company starts taking calls.” Looking around with the room with loathing, he turned back to Bucky resigned. “Truth be told I was putting off today’s work. I am so not looking forward to cleaning…” he made a sweeping gesture to encompass the whole house, “all this.”

“You know…” Bucky started, putting down his fourth muffin and leaning back on his hands. “I don’t have anything I have to do today. I could…” he said thoughtfully, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “stick around and help with the cleaning.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that. Besides, don’t you have your own work?”

“Okay first of all punk, you didn’t ask, I offered,” Bucky replied rolling his eyes. “Second of all, I own the place and I am entitled to a day off now and again, even if, much to Shuri’s chagrin, I hardly take them. Thirdly, it’s Saturday, which means Shuri is scheduled to open. Between you and me she could run the place if she weren’t still in high school.”

“She’s still in _high school_?” Steve asked incredulously.

“Yup. She just finished her junior year. That girl has got a bright future ahead of her… Don’t ever tell her I said that,” he said looking sharply at Steve. “I got a reputation to uphold with her.”

Steve gave him a weird look at that.

“Yeah, I’m technically her boss, but we’re really more like family,” Bucky explained. “My parents took her and her brother in when I was twelve. Parents died in a car accident shortly after she was born. Drunk driver. She’s the little sister I never asked for, but am real glad I got.” The love in Bucky’s face and voice was obvious when he talked about her. It reminded Steve about how he felt about Peggy.

“Uh yeah,” Bucky cleared his throat, “and lastly, back to the reasons I’m gonna stay and help you clean: If I don’t, you’re not gonna get outta here for at least a week and I ain’t about to let you toil away like some poor Cinderella. So call me Gus-gus, hand me a feather duster, and let’s get you to the ball!”


	4. Chapter 4

Steve was in Hell. He’d always thought Hell was fire and brimstone, demons poking you with pitchforks, that kind of thing. Nope. Turns out, Father Fitzpatrick was wrong; Hell is being trapped with a sweet, helpful, and all around wonderful guy, who just so happens to be exactly your type, all with the knowledge that he’s very straight.

They’d cleaned up from breakfast, and Steve had excused himself to brush his teeth. He stood now in front of the bathroom mirror, letting the water run a bit. He splashed the cold water on his face in a paltry attempt to both wash it, and make sure he was actually awake and not just dreaming. He squeezed some toothpaste onto his brush and stared at his reflection staring dazed back at him.

As he brushed, his thoughts wandered to fantasies of the man one room over. He imagined how breakfast could’ve gone. He and Bucky flirting back and forth until one of them tipped the scales from playful to serious.

A misplaced hand here. A charged look there. And then a touch. A touch that could be nothing, or could tumble gloriously into something more heated, unable to keep their hands to themselves until…

A loud crack followed by a thump sounded from the parlor pulling Steve back to reality. He dashed from the bathroom back to investigate.

Steve was greeted with the sight of Bucky sprawled, legs akimbo, on the floor between two halves of what had previously been the antique settee.

“Oh my God! Are you okay? What happened?” Steve exclaimed racing over to him. Bucky was already on his feet, brushing the dust from his backside. He had turned a lovely crimson colour, and was trying desperately not to make eye contact with Steve.

“I’m fine,” he said. “Er…Sorry about the…whatever you call that thing. I’ll pay for it, I swear! I was – I was just looking around at the room, y’know, seeing what needs to be done cleaning-wise, and well, my foot snagged on something and I just…” Bucky trailed off, finishing his thought by re-enacting his tumble with hand gestures.

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously.” He gave Bucky a firm look that made the other man swallow the response he’d been about to give. “It gives me less guilt about getting rid of it all,” he added with a chuckle.

“Well, if you’re sure,” Bucky said with a laugh, slipping back into the easy comfort from before, his embarrassment seemingly forgotten. “Now let’s get to work.”

*****

They started by moving all the furniture out of the room. Steve pointed out that there was no use in cleaning something he wasn’t planning on keeping. There was yet another brief but polite argument between the two when Bucky insisted that they load it all onto his truck as “Steve, you’re gonna have get it out of your yard at some point. Might as well do it now when, you know, you have someone with a truck literally offering to take it.”

Steve had to relent to that, and so they carefully lugged all the furniture to the yard and hoisted it up into the flatbed of Bucky’s truck.

They headed back inside and surveyed the empty room. It really was a huge room, and would be quite beautiful when it was cleaned. It was completely paneled with dark rich wood, right up to the fireplace which was clad in large slate tiles. The floors beneath the elaborate silk rug were beautiful and well cared for wood that matched the panelling. On a whole room gave off the impression that it had been there a long time, and had been inhabited by some minor nobleman.

Steve let out a huff of air. “Well… ain’t nothin’ to it but to do it, I guess.”

“No, no there isn’t,” Bucky replied giving him a commiserating look.

With two of them going at it the work went surprisingly quick. They worked in opposite directions and in no time at all the walls were gleaming once more, and there wasn’t a cobweb to be seen hanging from the ceiling or chandelier. They rolled up the carpet and chucked it out into the foyer. They’d beat the dust out of it before they took it anywhere, but that was a low priority.

They took the same approach to the wall of windows, meeting in the middle. Steve was having such a good time working in the amiable silence that he didn’t expect it when Bucky hip checked out of the way, to finish the last window himself. Steve glared, but Bucky just gave him a self-satisfied grin.

“Ha! Beatcha!”

“Since when did we make this a competition? We’re cleaning!”

“Stevie, Stevie, Stevie,” Bucky responded, mock condescension dripping from his every word, “Everything is a competition.” With that Bucky patted him gently on the cheek and turned towards the door. “Now c’mon, the rest of this place ain’t gonna clean itself.”

Steve just stared dumbfounded after him. When he reached the door, Bucky winked back at him. It could have been Steve’s imagination, but he’d have sworn that Bucky added a little swish to his hips as he rounded the corner.

“OH IT IS ON BUDDY!” Steve yelled, slightly hysterically.

“BRING IT, PUNK!” Bucky tossed over his shoulder.

With the newfound competition aspect, the work went even faster. The kitchen was cleaned top to bottom in under an hour. With the frequent use of it by Pip-pop’s caretaker, it hadn’t been as dirty as the parlour. The cabinets would be gone through and dishes washed later.

 Steve called a brief time out around ten o’clock to phone the power company. As nice as candlelit evenings were, he’d be damned if he’d be taking a cold shower today – though with Bucky hanging around the need for one was becoming increasingly likely.  

When he returned and found Bucky in the study sweeping, swaying around in a dance to a gentle melody he was singing to himself.

_“How ‘bout a dance? It’s always fun. Come over here, let me get to know ya,”_ Bucky sang rocking the broom like a dance partner. Steve stood watching him, mesmerized. _“Can’t beat a band, to lift your spirits…high,”_ Bucky turned around, noticing Steve for the first time. He blushed a little but didn’t stop singing. “ _You look so handsome! How ‘bout a dance?”_ He held his hand out for Steve to grab. He didn’t know what possessed him, but Steve took the offered hand and allowed himself to be spun around Bucky ‘til they were rocking back and forth in an easy two-step.

When Bucky finished the song Steve just stood there, a little out of it.

“You sing?” was all that came out.

 “I mean, of course you sing.” Steve stammered. “That’s what you were just doing. What I meant is that you sing well. Not that I looked at you and thought ‘wow I bet that guy has a horrible voice’. Uh.-I’m going to stop talking now.”

Bucky just smiled and gave a small chuckle. “Yeah, I sing. Play a lot of instruments too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. To tell the truth, music is my real passion. Went away to school for it and everything.”

“So why didn’t you keep doing it?” Steve pressed.

“I did. Once I graduated I stayed in New York, got some pretty steady work. Wedding singing mostly, but I did a lot of open mics, even was a regular paid musician at this one place in Brooklyn, The Bell House. Nearly got signed to an indie label too,” Bucky looked at the floor and barked out a bitter laugh. “But then Dad got sick, and Ma couldn’t run the store by herself, and Shuri was only twelve at the time. So I came home. Turned down the record deal, and started running the hardware store.” He shrugged and was restored to his former chipper demeanor. “Didn’t meant to bring it down.”

Steve didn’t have a response. Instead he picked up the dusters, threw one in Bucky’s face and took off for the study. “Bet I get more of it done than you!” he crowed, slamming the door behind him to create yet another obstacle for Bucky.

It worked like a charm. The tension was thoroughly cut as Bucky ran after him shouting “Cheater!”

The work in the study took a bit longer than the kitchen had. The dust and grime was thick in the room. If Steve were to make a guess, he’d say that Pip-pop had never so much as set foot in this room.

Everything looked as if it had been deliberately placed there by some interior designer who insisted that every grand house needed a study, and then they’d left and the room just sat there mouldering. Steve wouldn’t regret getting rid of everything in this room for one minute. That, however, was going to take a bit more planning as there was no way he and Bucky would be able to get the  ten foot solid oak desk out by themselves.

He would say this, who ever had designed this house seriously loved wood panelling. It didn’t just feature in the parlor, but the study, and the dining room as well. Practically the whole west wing was panelled.

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky swore when Steve opened the door to the dining room. “I mean, seriously! There are other wall treatments! What did those poor trees ever do to deserve this?”

“Can’t say I disagree.” Steve clapped Bucky on the shoulder. “This is overkill.”

“You know what?” Bucky said, turning to face Steve. “Fuck this. I’m sick of staring at this stupid panelling. Let’s go get lunch.”

“What?”

“Lunch, Steve. Y’know, that meal you eat in the middle of the day. Grab your keys, you’re driving.” With that, Bucky turned and steered Steve out of the room.

*****

They pulled up right outside the diner. Bucky hopped out immediately and made a break for the door. He stood at the top of the steps holding the door giving Steve an impatient glare as he climbed out of the car.

“Hurry up slowpoke!” he called after himself.

Steve rolled his eyes and grumbled under his breath as he made his way up the steps and through the door which Bucky was holding open for him, subtly enjoying the view of the line of Bucky’s shoulders against the door

The diner was exactly what one would expect from a diner. A long linoleum counter lined with stools directly across from the door and vinyl booths stretched the full length of the restaurant in either direction. The whole place was done out in a vibrant combination of purple, chrome, and white that managed to feel comforting and classic, rather than garish and alarming.

They slid themselves into a booth at the end of the diner, far away from the other patrons and the cash register. The choice of seating did not go unnoticed by Steve, who was grateful to be kept away from the prying eyes who would no doubt be eager to get a look at the town’s new arrival.

“You are now seated in _the_ premiere dining local in all of Kirby. Also the only dining local in all of Kirby. Man, if these walls could talk…I’d tell ‘em to cram it,” he said throwing some salt from the shaker he’d been fiddling with, over his left shoulder. “They’ve seen way too much. ‘Specially during my high school days,” Bucky smirked.

Steve was still trying to figure out what Bucky meant by that when he was interrupted by the waitress.

“You boys know what you’re having yet?” she asked. She was young, probably early twenties, brunette, and she spoke with a slight eastern European accent. “Usual for you Bucky?” she cocked her head to the side, digging an order pad and pencil out from the purple apron tied around her waist.

“Yeah Wanda, I’ll stick with the usual,” he replied, smiling back at her.

“And how about you? Still need a few minutes?”

Steve realized he’d been so preoccupied looking around he hadn’t even taken a look at the menu. “Uh…yeah,” he replied intelligently.

“Sure, no problem. Take your time. Just wave me down when you’ve decided.” She turned and walked away.

“Ugh, I hate this!” Steve buried his head in his hands groaning.

“What?”

“Being new! Not knowing anybody or anything! It feels like I’m somehow screwing up just being a person. I can’t even order food.”

“Listen,” Bucky said softly, placing his hand over Steve’s, “this blows. I get it. Moving to a new place alone. It’s really tough. But, you’re not totally alone. I mean, you’ve got at least one friend here. You ever need anything, you can just call, I mean it. And as for the other?” he gestured back towards the other diners where they were surreptitiously sneaking looks at Steve. “Yeah, you’re the new curiosity. But give it a month or two and that’ll fade. You’ll become one of us. Heck, the town hasn’t seen anyone one new since Wanda and Pietro moved here.”

Surprisingly, that did make Steve feel better. “I guess you’re right,” Steve lifted his head and smiled at Bucky.

“’Course I am. Now what are you gonna get?”

“I dunno. Any suggestions, Mr. ‘I’ll Have the Usual’?” Steve quipped back.

“Honestly, you can’t go wrong with anything here. Pietro is an amazing cook. Best decision Clint ever made was hiring those two.” He gestured back towards the cash where the waitress, Wanda, was standing chatting to and older man with cropped brown hair, and a younger man with silver hair who looked to be the same age as Wanda and bore a strong family resemblance to her, despite the wildly different hair colours.

“Well, what are you getting?” Steve asked.

“Double cheeseburger with maple back bacon, bbq sauce, pepper jack cheese and crispy onion frites; a side of sweet beer battered onion rings; and a milkshake made from local strawberries.”

“Man that sounds good!” Steve exclaimed. Apparently, loud enough that it attracted the attention of Wanda.

“So, you’ve decided then?” she asked as she came back over.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have the same as him.”

“Good choice. Two Barnes’ specials coming right up.” She made to walk away and then turned back to the table. “I’m Wanda, by the way.”

“Steve,” Steve replied, holding out a hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too.” She took the hand. “Welcome to town. Hope to see you around more.” She turned and swept off towards the kitchen.

Steve and Bucky fell into companionable silence as Wanda went to put their order in. Steve gazed out the window looking down the street. It was by no means as busy as Brooklyn. Some people would probably call it sleepy, but Steve saw the comings and goings of people in and out of Pym’s, people out for an easy Saturday bike ride, a gaggle of little girls in tutu excitedly spilling out from Romanov’s School of dance. He even saw a figure he recognized as Peter, looking slightly panicked as he rushed from the dance school over to the Bucky’s store.

His observation of Peter was interrupted by a guffaw from Bucky. “Looks like Peter’s class ran a little long today,” he said gesturing out the window. “Shuri is gonna give him hell for it.”

“Class?” was all Steve responded.

“Yeah, Peter works for Nat, helping her with the younger kids’ classes. Boy works too hard if you ask me. Teaching dance, working for me, not to mention constantly rehearsing for his university auditions. Kid’s gonna burn himself out.”

Steve hummed thoughtfully. “He seems like a good kid.”

“Oh he definitely is. I’ll be sad to see him go.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” The interruption came from the man with the brown hair. “Or at least one of you is a gentleman, eh, Barnes?”

“What exactly are you implying, Barton?” Bucky retorted, mock-offended.

“Lay off the dramatics Barnes, I’ve seen you eat.” Bucky actually blushed and looked a bit sheepish at that. “Anyway,” the man said turning to Steve, “the name’s Clint Barton. Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” and he shook Steve’s hand vigorously. His grip was strong and his hands calloused, but there was no intimidation in the gesture; just a man who was sure of himself.

“Pleasure’s all mine, I’m sure,” Steve replied. “It’s quite the place you’ve got here.”

“Yeah, she’s my pride and joy. Kinda a greasy spoon, but I’ve never had any complaints,” Clint laughed boisterously. “I’ll leave you two to your lunch though. Just came over to say hi, and drop these off, courtesy of Pietro in the kitchen,” he said depositing a plate heaped with mozza sticks in front of Steve. “And courtesy of me, your lunch is on the house.”

“Thanks Clint. I take back thinking you were an asshole just now,” Bucky exclaimed.

“Not yours, new guy’s. Do I look like I’m made of money? Geez!” Steve nearly choked trying not to laugh as Bucky deflated and sullenly stuffed a mozza stick in his mouth. He wasn’t sure but he could’ve sworn he heard Clint mutter ‘some people’ as he walked away.

Bucky hadn’t been lying. The food was amazing. Steve wasn’t even embarrassed about the borderline erotic sound he made when he bit into that mozza stick. How the Pietro guy had managed to improve deep fried breaded cheese was beyond him; although he thought it might have something to do with he chili flakes and truffle oil. By the time Bucky and he had demolished the plate of deep fried goodness, Wanda was on her way back with a tray laden down with their meal.

As Steve grabbed his burger and took a bite, the door swung open with the chime of a bell. The redhead from Pym’s strolled in and up to the counter. She talked briefly to Clint, who then disappeared into the kitchen. As she stood waiting at the counter she glanced over and took notice of Steve and Bucky. Steve expected her to come over to them, especially after she’d bought his groceries yesterday. But she didn’t. She stayed where she was, her gaze cool and assessing.

“So anyway,” Bucky said, pulling Steve back to their conversation and his burger, “I’ve told you all about me; tell me a bit about yourself.”

Steve told Bucky about the will and the house, to which he got a snort with a “And I thought my family was weird” in response. He told Bucky about his life back in Brooklyn. How he was an illustrator. He even found himself opening up to Bucky about his father’s abandonment and his mother’s cancer.

“He just packed up and left,” Steve said darkly into his milkshake. “Said it was too much. That he couldn’t deal with it. What kind of man does that? Leaves his sixteen year old son and wife battling cancer?” He’d never forgiven his father for that. He’d even debated changing his last name to Dugan; he didn’t want any reminders of his father. “She died eighteen months later.”

“I’m so sorry Steve. Cancer’s a fucking bitch.” And that was enough. Time had dulled the ache of loss for Steve, but he still found it hard to talk about. Somehow Bucky’s frank assessment made it easier. “And your dad sounds like a prick.” That startled a laugh out of Steve, breaking the tension of the moment.

“Hey, Buck? Who’s that woman waiting by the counter?” Steve asked nodding towards the redhead.

“That’s Nat.”

“The Nat who runs the dance studio?”

“Yeah. Technically more of a dance studio/gym, but yeah. She’s also Clint’s wife… Why? Interested?” Bucky waggled his eyebrows at Steve.

“N-no!” Steve spluttered. “She just bought my groceries yesterday without saying a word, and she’s been watching us for like, the last half hour.”

“Sounds like Nat,” Bucky laughed. “Heart of gold, but her people skills…she’s one of those ‘actions speak louder than words’ types.”

“I see.”

They must’ve been a bit louder than they’d realized, or else her ears had started burning, because her gaze narrowed thoughtfully at them, as though she were trying to decide something. It was then that Clint emerged from the kitchen carrying a plastic bag stacked with Styrofoam take out containers. He handed the bag to Nat. She took the bag, pecked him on the lips, and sauntered casually out the door, the little bell chiming behind her.

“Besides,” Bucky leaned in conspiratorially, “if you tried to make a move, she’d have you pinned to the ground in five seconds flat, begging for mercy. And Clint’s no slouch either. He was on the Olympic archery team.”

“Well, that explains the name of the diner. And noted. Don’t piss off the Bartons.” Steve popped the onion ring he’d been toying with into his mouth.

Lunch had been amazing. Talking with Bucky and learning about him had been one of the best mornings he’d ever had. It felt like Steve had known him years rather than hours. He was funny and snarky, but also sweet and kind with a heart the size of Steve’s house. He could tell just from seeing him interact with his neighbours.

It killed Steve. He wished Bucky could’ve just been some ruthless, cold asshole so he could have just had guiltless naughty fantasies about him. But no. He had to go and be great. Exactly Steve’s type. Which also meant straight. Steve only had two types- gay assholes, or straight charmers.

“Hello! Earth to Steve.” Bucky waved his hand in front of Steve’s face.

“Uh, sorry. Got lost in my own head there,” Steve stammered out in apology.

“Yeah, I could see.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “I was just saying that we should get heading back to the house. Finish up that study. Pietro’s onion rings have given me the strength I need to face that wood panelling again.”

 Steve should have enjoyed the drive back. Bucky was humming along to the radio in the passenger’s seat, grooving along to the rhythm, and cracking a joke every now and then. Steve was white knuckling the steering wheel and silently cursing his luck and the universe. When they got back to the house and climbed out of the car, Steve turned to Bucky.

“Hey, listen,” Steve said. “I really appreciate you helping out this morning, and breakfast. It was really great of you…”

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ in there.” Bucky rubbed his neck ruefully. “I’ve outstayed my welcome. I know. I was just enjoying myself.”

“No!” Steve said, maybe too quickly. “What I mean is, it’s not that you’ve outstayed, or imposed, or anything it’s just… I actually have some work to finish this afternoon. To meet a deadline. Otherwise…”

“Say no more.” Bucky held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I’ll be taking my leave, Monsieur Big-Artiste. See you around!”

Bucky went and climbed into his truck. As Steve turned around to head up into the house he heard the engine rev and Bucky roll down his window. “Hey Steve,” Bucky called as he took off down the driveway, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten…You still owe me that kiss for the muffins.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any one has been desperately waiting for an update (unlikely I know) sorry for taking so long. Life has been crazy and honestly, I haven't been that motivated to finish, but that has changed. This fic is basically wish fulfillment therapy for me.
> 
> Once again a huge thanks to Molly (mollus here on ao3, go check out her stuff it's really cute. And harass her about finishing that flower shop au), she never fails to call me out on my bullshit. You're the best beta a person could ask for.
> 
> Another update should be coming soon. And Nat will finally make her real debut.  
> Thanks for reading. Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated and really motivating.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve closed the door and slid down to the floor. He let out an aggravated growl that echoed around the cavernous room. He knew Bucky wasn’t being malicious. Knew that was just teasing, really.

 _Why do straight boys have to be so oblivious!_ Steve screamed in his head.

He hadn’t lied to Bucky. He did have a storyboard to get to submit… by the end of the month, that was already mostly done. But he reasoned that if he worked on it tonight he could tell himself he hadn’t lied, exactly. So that’s what he did.

He sat down with his work tablet at the desk in the study, and hauled out his drafts for the latest installment of _Crabby Abbey_. The series followed the tale of a cantankerous young crab named Abbey as she navigated life. The stories were short and funny, and typically had Abbey learn a moral or lesson. Steve was actually pretty excited about this particular one because it dealt with Abbey meeting another crab named Paul with two daddies.

Within an hour Steve had finished his preliminary sketches and submitted them for approval. He put away his tablet and retrieved his personal sketchbook from the parlor. He sketched what his sleep addled mind remembered about Bucky on the doorstep that morning. When he was done he frowned down at the image of Bucky staring back at him. He hadn’t quite managed to capture the way his dimples brought out a twinkle in his eye, or the way those eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled.

He turned next to sketching the diner. He drew Clint standing behind the counter, leaning over to talk to Wanda as she carried a plate of food. He was happier with the way this sketch turned out. He’d managed to capture the feeling of being in that restaurant. Of feeling like you’d be taken care of no matter who you were, like anybody was welcome to come in and be fed.

His roaming mind moved on to  Peter and Shuri. He looked up reference photos of dancers for Peter and drew him leaping through the air. Shuri he drew as a mad scientist, cackling wildly over her creature – who happened to look a bit like Bucky – as lightning flashed behind her.

His back was aching when he finally finished and sat up. He decided to go take a shower now that he’d blessedly have hot water. He nearly kicked himself when he realized he didn’t have soap. He was really terrible at this moving thing. Steve couldn’t help laugh at the irony that he’d bought all sorts of things to clean his house but had neglected to buy anything to clean or feed himself. Peggy was going to have a field day of I-told-you-so’s when she heard about this.

He turned on the water to let it heat up. He dug around under the cabinets on the off chance he’d find some bodywash or something. By some miracle of luck, his rummaging managed to turn up a plastic wrapped bar of decorative soap. It smelled like lavender and roses, and gave Steve all of the elderly woman vibes, but it would have to do.

Stepping under the spray of the shower, he felt some of the tension he’d been carrying leave his shoulders as the hot water worked his muscles. He closed his eyes and let the water calm his swirling thoughts, letting the worst of the dirt and sweat clinging to him be washed away before lathering up the soap to finish the job.

Thoughts of Bucky came unbidden to the forefront of his mind as his hands roamed over his body. He felt a flush of shame and guilt as his groin responded to the thoughts. The day had been a smorgasbord of masturbatory fodder. Bucky’s arms like pythons lifting the furniture. His lean back muscles as they stretched and contracted while he reached for a last speck of dirt high up on the wall. The seductive way his hips had swayed while he danced, cradling the broom like a lover. Steve had never been jealous of a broom before.

But even more than just how gorgeous Bucky was, Steve was entranced by who he was. He’d learned so much about Bucky today. About his past, his relationships with the town, and how it revealed the kind of man he was.  A man who would sacrifice his dreams for those he loved and still remained bright and positive about. Someone else might have let it destroy them, but Bucky had simply changed his dream and built a life for himself in this town.

Something Steve hoped that he might be able to do here. But, he realized with a grimace, he wasn’t going to do it if he alienated the person who’d made him feel most welcome by letting this crush get out of hand. He adamantly ignored his now raging erection and finished off his shower, quickly drying off and stuffing himself back into his clothes.

He was distracted from the incessant need of his body by his cellphone ringing from where he’d left it in the parlor.

“Hello, Steve Rogers speaking.”

“Is that anyway to answer the phone when your best mate who you didn’t even tell you were moving, and who happens to be out of the country, calls to check in?” Peggy reprimanded from the other end of the line.

“Sorry Pegs, force of habit,” Steve laughed.

“Yes, well I’m still mad at you so I’ll take any chance I can to yell at you,” Peggy said, but there was no real heat to it. “Seriously darling, how are you doing?”

“I’m actually doing really well. Honestly Pegs,” he added. He could practically hear her disbelieving frown over the phone. “It’s been good. The house is huge and filthy. More room than I could possibly ever want or need. I’m pretty sure both of our places could fit inside the foyer with room to spare.”

“Well that’s certainly a change. Whatever will you do with all that space?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged even if he knew she couldn’t see it. “I have a few ideas, there are still areas of the house I’ll probably never set foot in.”

“And the town? How are you settling in? Are you actually getting out and meeting people? You can’t just hide away in that house.”

“I have! I’m not _totally_ antisocial you know. I actually spent the entire day with a new friend. We had lunch at the local diner and I met a bunch of people.” He couldn’t help the defensive tone that crept into his voice.

“I _know,_ darling. I’m just concerned. It isn’t like you to upheave your life like this.”

“Yeah, but… It just felt like I needed a change, and this fell right into my lap. So,why not, right?”

“I trust you. So! Tell me about the place,” she commanded.

So Steve regaled Peggy with his adventures so far. She groaned in sympathy when she heard about his night and the filth of the house. When he told her the story of how he met Bucky she’d snorted loudly into the phone. When he mentioned Bucky showing up in the morning and staying to help him clean, something in Steve’s voice must have betrayed him because Peggy interrupted him.

“Steve, if I didn’t know any better I’d say someone has an infatuation.”

“I-I-I – no. I mean-” he stammered.

“You do!” she crowed. “And don’t you dare lie to me Steve, I may be halfway across the world but I will still kick your arse.” He believed it. If there was anyone who could commit a transatlantic arse-kicking, it was Peggy Carter.

“Ok, maybe a _little_ … but it doesn’t matter. He’s straight, so there’s no use in getting my hopes up.”

“Steven, the man showed up at dawn with not one, but three types of muffins and _a lasagna_. Homemade. I think it’s fair to say he’s interested.” Steve recognized this tone. It was the one that was usually accompanied by her calling him a ‘blithering idiot’.

“Peggy, he was just being nice. That’s what people are like in small towns. Clint gave me a free lunch, and Natasha bought my cleaning supplies for Christ’s sake,” Steve cried in exasperation. “Just look at my track record! Brock, obviously gay and a total asshole. Same with Nick! And that guy from the deli? The super sweet one who always gave me an extra helping of macaroni salad? He looked at my like I had six heads when I finally worked up the courage to ask him out.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize that Kirby was in Egypt.”

“Huh?”

“Because you are in _de Nile_ , my friend,” she deadpanned.

“You did not just make that joke.”

“I’m afraid I did.” Steve could hear the smile in her voice. “Seriously though, don’t get in your own way. Did you even ask him?”

“Yes, Peggy,” Steve replied with sarcasm dripping from every word, “He came to my door and the first thing out of my mouth was ‘Thanks for the muffins. Oh and by the way, what’s your opinion on dicks? For or against?’”

“You know I can’t talk to you when you’re being deliberately thick,” Peggy sighed in exasperation.

“Love you too, Pegs.”

“You _know_ I love you darling. That’s why I get mad when I see you sabotaging yourself. Just - think about what I’ve said. What could it hurt?” Steve head a loud crash followed by wet sloshing sound. “Oh _bollocks_ \- I’m sorry darling, I have to go. Daniel is trying to give Sharon her bath and it isn’t going well by the sounds of it.”

“No problem. Say hi to them for me.”

“Of course, Steve. And think about what I said.” With that she hung up the phone.

That was Peggy. Always getting the last word in. He sat staring at the phone feeling a little stunned, but mostly amused until his stomach gave a great growl. He looked at his phone. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten while he’d been sketching and talking with Peggy.

He went to the kitchen and hauled the lasagna out of the fridge. He cut himself a generous portion and popped it in the microwave to reheat. The smell that permeated the kitchen as it heated made Steve’s stomach growl even louder. The lasagna smelled amazing.

When the microwave dinged he snatched the plate, hissing a little as it burned his fingers his hands. He nearly dropped the plate, but he didn’t care. He grabbed a knife and fork and tore into the food. Even as Steve went scrambling for a glass of water to sooth the burns on the roof of his mouth, he still heartily enjoyed the bite. The tomato sauce was rich and vibrant, and the sauce to pasta ratio was spot on. Bucky was definitely heavy handed with the cheese, but Steve wasn’t complaining. If he had to guess, he’d say Bucky had used at least six different cheeses. It was one of the best lasagnas that Steve had ever had.

When he was done, he went over to the pan and cut himself another piece. He let this one cool to a reasonable temperature before he ate it. He sighed contentedly as he ate. He still missed Brooklyn. Still missed the hustle and bustle of city life and the anonymity it had granted him, but as he sat there in his newly cleaned kitchen eating homemade lasagna, he couldn’t help but feel hopeful that this move had been the right decision.

*****

The following morning, Steve once again rose with the dawn. He’d spent another night sleeping on the floor of the parlour and based on the screaming of his back as he staggered to his feet, that would be the last night he did so.

He decided he’d go for a short run around the property to work out his stiff muscles. Once changed and outside, Steve took in a deep breath of the crisp upstate summer air and did a few stretches to warm up. The morning was still cool, but he could tell it was going to be a hot day. He jogged down the stairs towards a small, overgrown path to the left of the driveway.

The path had, at one point, been well manicured and maintained but had been quickly reclaimed by nature once it had fallen into disuse. Steve still managed to keep up a steady pace along it, a root snagging his foot every now and then, or a loosened paving stone causing him to stumble. The path had clearly been taken over by local wildlife as a game trail, and he noted little offshoots where it went deeper into the forests. At one point he came across a small pond where he saw the family of ducks he’d nearly hit yesterday. He made a mental note to pick up some seeds to scatter for them in apology.

The path was much longer than Steve had initially thought. It wound its way through the woods and around the entire property. Steve emerged an hour later, drenched in sweat, opposite where he’d started. Huffing and puffing, he dragged himself over to sit on the front stairs. He lay back against the cool stone, closed his eyes, and took deep breaths while he tried to get his heart rate lowered. He really needed to start working out again.

Entering the house, he made a beeline for the kitchen and the heap of leftover muffins from yesterday. He inhaled three of them almost without tasting and downed a large glass of water. He regretted his haste almost immediately when his stomach put up a great protest to the sudden incursion and he nearly saw his breakfast in reverse.

He poured himself another glass of water and grabbed another two muffins. He ate these ones more slowly and sipped the water as he went and grabbed a change of clothes and headed to the bathroom to shower.

Steve took a brief shower, once again reminding himself to pick up some different soap as the cloud of floral stink followed him out of the bathroom. He went to stand in the doorway to the dining room, surveying the still filthy room that would become his studio. His fingers itched to get back to painting; had since he’d first looked upon this place. He’d satisfied himself with his work and the few sketches he’d done, but he longed for the feel of a brush in his hands as colours swirled and streaked before his eyes as he brought his vision to life.

That would just have to wait. Steve was nothing if not practical – most of the time – and he had to admit that art could wait when he still had so much to do. He’d head to town, find somewhere to get his hands on a bed – his back groaning in agreement – and pick up some groceries. He could worry about the dining room later.

As he pulled into a parking spot outside Pym’s ten minutes later, he realized he didn’t have two clues where he could go about getting furniture in Kirby. He looked up and down the street and didn’t immediately see anything that indicated a furniture store. Steve headed back up the street on foot towards the diner to grab a cup of coffee and see if Clint or Wanda could point him in the right direction.

As he entered he was greeted by the smoky aroma of cooking bacon, frying eggs, and the wonderful rich smell of strong diner coffee. He sat himself down at the counter, the stool wobbling and creaking slightly under his weight. He worried for a moment he might fall off, but the stool seemed sturdy enough.

Wanda was busy taking the order of two men sitting in a booth. The man with his back him was larger even than Steve was. His long blonde hair was pulled back in a ponytail. A turn of his head to talk answer Wanda revealing a matching beard. He was dressed in a crisp white button up and had what appeared to be a floral scarf draped around his neck and broad shoulders. The man sitting opposite leaned back against the booth, arms spread confidently. He was wearing a well-tailored suit with a band t-shirt underneath, as though he and his breakfast companion had split the difference in their outfits. He was gesturing erratically between the two of them and laughing, causing his glasses to slide down his nose. Wanda seemed exasperated with the pair in the way of someone who is also quite fond the person they find so exasperating.

“What can I get for you this morning?”

Steve had been so distracted observing the group he really did fall off the stool when the man’s voice sounded to his right. Judging by the man’s accent he could only assume that this was Wanda’s brother. Red in the face, he picked himself up off the ground, glancing around briefly to see if anyone had noticed. To his chagrin the man in the glasses was smirking at him and Wanda was trying to conceal her laugh behind her order pad.

“Sorry, sorry,” the man apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” The twitch of his mouth indicated he too was trying to suppress a grin.

“It’s okay,” Steve assured him. “Let’s just not mention it. Pietro, right?”

The man seemed surprised that Steve knew who he was. “Yes, that’s right. And you are?” he prompted. The way he said it told Steve that Pietro knew _exactly_ who he was, but being polite enough to let Steve introduce himself. He appreciate the gesture.

“Steve Rogers,” Steve replied offering a hand. “I just moved here. In my great-grandfather’s place. Thanks for the mozza sticks yesterday, by the way. They were amazing. Everything was.”

“Pleasure to meet you, and sorry about your uncle,” he said shaking his hand with a pitying look Steve didn’t feel as though he deserved. “Care to sample anymore of my amazing cooking this morning?” he asked, quickly changing the subject with a cheeky grin.

“I’d love a cup of coffee…and maybe one of those scones,” he added gesturing to a display of pastries on the counter when he saw Pietro’s face fall a bit.

“Perfect. I’ll grab those for you real quick.” He dashed away to grab the coffee pot.

In no time, Steve was sitting with a steaming cup of coffee and a cranberry orange scone in front of him. The scone was still warm when he picked it up. Pietro watched him expectantly as he tore off a chunk and popped it into his mouth. Like the rest of the food, the scone was delicious. It was rich and dense while somehow still managing to maintain a delicate flakiness. Spiced with something Steve couldn’t quite identify, the orange and cranberries added an unexpected bright sweetness.

“This is really, really good,” Steve said through a mouthful, forgetting his manners.

Pietro looked delighted. “I’m so glad. They were an experiment this morning.”

“Hey Pietro! Where’s my order for table three?” Wanda yelled from the other end of the counter, followed by some angry muttering in a language Steve didn’t recognize.

“Oops, I should really get back to the kitchen. It was nice meeting you. Hope to see you around.”

“Wait, Pietro, before you go -  I needed to ask something,” Steve said. Pietro quirked an eyebrow expectantly. “Where would I go if I needed to buy furniture?”

“You should go to Barnes and Son’s. They have tonnes of catalogs you can look through...”

“Oh, I was looking more for something I could get my hands on today,” Steve replied.

“I’d maybe try the antiques shop. Loki might have a bed or two in there. Good luck,” he told Steve before he took off for the kitchen.

Steve left the diner, jogging down the steps back towards his car in search of the antique shop. He was thankful for the first time that the town was so small. It didn’t take him long to find the place. The building looked like it should have been a saloon in the old west, but the sign above the door proclaimed it to be Odin’s Throne Room: Antiques and Collectables.

He pushed the door open and immediately sneezed; overwhelmed by the scent of dust, wood, and lemon scented furniture polish as the door creaked shut behind him. The store was brightly lit and spacious, despite the haphazard piles of furniture and _objet d’art_ scattered around, and for the first time Steve fully understood the expression ‘bull in a china shop’. Despite the space he felt large and clumsy, and like he was going to break a priceless vase if he so much as breathed.

A man with slicked back black hair came bustling out of the back. He didn’t look up from where he was rolling up the sleeves of his tight green button-up, gold bracelets jangling on his wrist. The man was slight and lean with defined muscles that suggested refined strength. “Ah, Valkyrie, good you’re finally here. Do try to be on time.” The man spoke with a slightly condescending tone, though it could have been the refined British accent that gave that impression. “We have a busy day preparing for that auction, and I have a last minute appraisal meeting later this after- You-you’re not Valkyrie,” the man said, finally glancing up to see a slightly taken aback Steve.

“Uh…” Steve blinked.

“Sorry I’m late boss. Traffic.” A dark haired woman came in dodging around Steve to deposit her purse behind the counter. Steve couldn’t help but think that she didn’t sound the least bit sorry.

“Traffic? Honestly Valkyrie, if you’re going to lie at least have the decency to make it either believable or entirely outlandish.”

“Fine, I was going to be on time but then a death goddess showed up and sent me to a battledome planet, and I had to fight my way back here,” she rolled her eyes and disappeared into the backroom.

The man shook his head and turned with a smile towards Steve. “This is why they say ‘never work with family.’ Loki Odinson, pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Steve. Steve Rogers,” he responded, belatedly extending a hand.

“Now, what can I help you with today? Looking for anything in particular or just out for a bit of weekend antiquing?” the man, Loki, inquired.

“I’m actually in the market for a bed today.” Steve realized he was still extending his hand and dropped it back to his side.

“Bed, eh? We have a few of those around here. They should be towards the back,” he said gesturing towards the back right of the shop. “Here,” he said placing a sheet of blue star stickers in Steve’s hand. “Just place a sticker on anything you’re interested in. Just come up to the counter when you’re done.”

“Alright, thanks,” Steve said and headed back to where Loki had directed him. There was a larger variety of beds than he had anticipated. He was easily able to dismiss all of the singles as none of them would have fit his large frame, and once he’d been able to get into a queen or larger he’d promised himself he’d never go back. Besides which, a larger bed was required if he ever did have overnight company. _Yeah, like that’ll ever happen_ Steve thought bitterly.

After ten minutes of perusing, he’d narrowed it down to two beds. Both king sized, one was a solid mid-century sleigh bed with tiny stars carved along the headboard, the other was a simple canopy bed which allowed the beauty of the birds-eye maple it was carved from shine. In the end he decided to go with the canopy bed and affixed his star to it. As he was headed back to the counter a few other things caught his eye and he impulsively stickered them.

Neither Loki nor Valkyrie were at the counter when Steve was finished. He rang the little silver bell on the counter and waited. The store really was a treasure trove of odds and sods. There were vintage toys from the 1920s  next to a collection of pyrex cookware. Steve noticed a pinball machine by the door next to a shelf of Royal Doultons. There wasn’t a single piece of furniture that looked like it belonged together - it was a pinterester’s dream. The thing that caught Steve’s eye however, was a picture of Jeff Goldblum in _Jurassic Park_ taped to the wall behind the counter.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t ask if I were you,” said Valkyrie as she rounded the counter. “If I have to hear Loki go on about that man one more time I might kill him myself. And wouldn’t _that_ make the family reunion awkward. If you asked me, Laura Dern is the real eye candy in that movie.” Valkyrie was a very blunt woman, Steve was seeing, the kind that treated strangers like she’d always known them. “So you found everything ok?”

“Yeah, found everything I was looking for, and a few things I wasn’t,” Steve joked.

“That’s usually how it happens here,” she answered mock-sardonically. “I’ll go see what you’ve stickered and ring you up. Will you be needing delivery today? If you’re in town we can guarantee it there by four o’clock.”

“Yes, definitely yes,” Steve answered a little too enthusiastically. He hadn’t fully thought through the reality of getting his purchases home and was grateful to have that problem solved for him. He didn’t miss the side-eye she gave him for his response, but he couldn’t deny he’d had it coming.

“Ok, so the bird’s-eye bed, the easel and pallet, and the World War II Star-Spangled Swiss shield?” Steve nodded in affirmation. “Your total will be $3,650, with free same-day delivery. I’ll just need an address.”

Steve swallowed reluctantly. Here it came, the stare: a narrowing of the eyes, a considering look of both interest and pity as curiosity warred with the polite need to express condolences. “I’m at the Dugan Estate.”

But nothing came. No look, no condolences, not even the barest flash of recognition or interest. “Alright, we’ll make sure that gets to you today. If you’d like to leave a phone number we can call before we head out so you don’t have to be waiting around all day,” she prompted, handing him a pen and a sticky note.

“Yeah sure. That’d be great,” he said, a little thrown, scribbling down his number.

“Alright, all that’s left is the payment. We take sixty percent upfront as a deposit and you pay the remaining forty upon delivery. Sound good?” she asked as she keyed the price into a credit machine.

“Perfect.” Steve paid and said good-bye with a tiny smile. Some of the tension he’d been carrying since he’d entered town had left him. It had been so nice not to be scrutinized, no matter how well-meaningly, or have to answer a hundred personal questions.

That feeling evaporated and the tension returned the second he stepped through the doors of Pym’s. _Again_  it felt as if every eye in the place was on him, analyzing him, judging him and deciding whether or not he’d be accepted. Steve couldn’t help but wonder if this was how transplanted organs felt, and had to smother a hysterical giggle.

Avoiding the eyes, Steve grabbed a cart and headed for the nearest aisle. He regretted not making some kind of list for himself almost immediately. It had been a long time since he’d last moved and stocking a kitchen had never been his forte. He loaded his cart with things he’d be able to grab quickly for easy meals.

“I would not have pegged you as Italian,” a dry female voice said behind him, causing Steve to jump. People in this town needed to stop sneaking up on him. He turned around to discover the redhead, Nat, that Bucky had told him about.

“Huh?” Steve cocked his head.

“Either that or you have a pasta fetish, which is really none of my business,” she added looking purposefully at the cart.

“Oh yeah, no. I was just grabbing…” He cut himself off. She was right. He _did_ have a slightly concerning amount of pasta in his cart.

“Setting up shop?” she asked, her smirk turning into a genuine smile.

“Yes,” he replied awkwardly. “It’s been a crazy few days and, well.” He gestured towards the cart.

“Pasta? Your solution was pasta?” she asked in that incredulous dry way.

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” Steve replied sheepishly.

She cast her eyes upwards in a way that seemed to suggest she was genuinely questioning how men had survived all these years before grabbing Steve’s cart and walking away. It took Steve a moment to realize what had happened and follow her. She was an aisle over by the time he’d caught up. She’d already added flour, sugar, a prepackaged spice rack, and a bottle of olive oil to the cart.

“Can I ask what you think you’re doing?” Steve stopped her,  placing a hand on one of her shoulders.

“You can ask anything you want,” she replied with a coy smile. “Doesn’t mean you get any answers.” She continued adding things to the cart.

Steve just spluttered. Nat took advantage of his distraction and pulled the cart away from him, disappearing around the next aisle.

“Look,” Steve told her when he caught up again, “I don’t know what you think you’re doing but-“

“Steve. It is Steve, right?” she asked whirling on him. Steve just nodded. “It’s clear to me that you’re a bit overwhelmed. You suddenly pack up and come to a new town where you don’t know anyone. You’re alone, in a big house. It’s a lot.” She dropped a bag of coffee, a box of tea, and box of cereal into the cart.

“That’s not true. I know Bucky!” Steve protested.

“Oh? And when did you meet him?” she questioned, raising that single eyebrow knowingly again.

“Two days ago,” Steve admitted, remembering the incident and blushing.

“My point, Steve, is that you’re going through a lot right now. You’re a little thrown. That much is obvious. So let me help you.” Steve followed her around the aisle to the produce department.

As forward as she was being, Steve could help but be touched. And a little frightened. He was reminded of Peggy.

“How are you liking town so far?” she inquired conversationally, adding some lettuce to the cart. Steve’s head nearly spun from the one-eighty.

“It’s – it’s been really great. I mean, the people have been. The ones I’ve met. The diner is wonderful.” She smiled at that. “Everyone has been really friendly. Oh, I didn’t thank you for the other day.”

“Don’t mention it. Don’t mention today either.” She handed him a loaf of bread smiling. “The more you get out and meet people the easier it’ll be. Become one of us and suddenly you’re not the subject of every conversation.” She glanced meaningfully at a couple who’d been staring. “My advice? Don’t stay cooped up in that house all alone.”

“I wasn’t alone yesterday,” Steve pointed out.

“Yes, I could see that,” she smirked. Steve felt heat rush to his face and contemplated sticking his head in the milk cooler. “Well, my work here is done,” she announced looking towards the full cart that Steve had somehow ended up pushing. “I’ve got to go finish my own shopping, but Clint and I are headed to Sam’s tonight to meet some people, you should come.”

“Sam’s?” Steve questioned.

“It’s the bar down the street. It’s usually a good time. Just don’t challenge Clint to a game of darts unless you like to lose.”

“I’ll think about it,” Steve answered, honestly not sure if he’d attend. He was usually down for a good time, but meeting so many people at once…

Nat frowned, but accepted the answer and started to walk away.

“See you around,” Steve called after her.

“See you tonight,” she yelled back, not bothering to turn around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, more of Nat.  
> School is getting busy at the moment, so I might disappear again, but I'll try not to. I'm also working on another Stucky fic at the moment that I won't be posting until it's done, so that's taking some of my focus.
> 
> This fic has easily gotten out of hand from my initial idea of "cliche dead relative leaves you house with weird conditions". 
> 
> I appreciate all the comments and kudos. They warm my chilly little heart.


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